


For Love is Doomed to Mourn

by elistaire



Series: Hope Told a Flattering Tale [4]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Eggs, Genetics, Han's serum has many consequences, M/M, Mountains, Mt. Washington, Pining, Swimming, last story in the series, not as awful as the title implies, not exactly realistic genetic engineering, ultimately a fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magneto steals Hank's serum for nefarious purposes.  To keep the plan operational, he's got to keep away from the mansion, which just causes heartache, for him, and for Charles. Also, the implications of Darwin's return and his molecular meddling begin to become apparent.</p><p> </p><p><i><br/>Erik stood close to the edge of the mountainside, staring off into the swirl of clouds and mist.  He came here as often as he dared—to think, to remember, to plan. </i></p><p><i>Up here, he felt detached.  Able to consider all the elements with less bias, less heated emotion....</i></p><p><i>This plan would destroy the last vestige of that fragile, ragged relationship.  Sever it completely.  There would be no return, no forgiveness.  </i></p><p><i>Erik gazed at the vista before him, and accepted what would be. </i></p><p><i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	For Love is Doomed to Mourn

Erik stood close to the edge of the mountainside, staring off into the swirl of clouds and mist. He came here as often as he dared—to think, to remember, to plan.

Up here, he felt detached. Able to consider all the elements with less bias, less heated emotion.

He thought about the grateful father at the carnival, and the unerring love he’d expressed for the safety of his family. Erik remembered the conversation he’d held with Charles later that night, as they’d shelled and eaten the peas. He thought about the night and morning before he’d killed Shaw. He remembered what came after, and the grief and pain of leaving, of having his convictions take such precedence. And yet. This plan would destroy the last vestige of that fragile, ragged relationship. Sever it completely. There would be no return, no forgiveness.

Erik gazed at the vista before him, and accepted what would be.

Behind him, Azazel popped onto the top of the mountain, ready to return them both to their headquarters.

~~~

“The question is,” Magneto said, staring at the fluorescent green serum in the syringe that he held between thumb and forefinger, “will it work?”

Mystique stared at the viscous fluid, captivated by it. She had long since sloughed off the notions that had caused Hank to offer it to her, but she’d discarded them by sheer force of will. Her natural inclination, from years of hiding and pretending, would always still be to wish to be normal. She was only now replacing that ideology with her new concept of herself—stronger than she’d ever thought she could be, capable, and just perfect as she naturally was.

This serum had been created from Hank’s examination of _her_ blood and from his desire to blend in more perfectly. Its potential had been exposed by his experimenting on himself. That it might be used to further their cause was a cosmic irony that brought a tumult to Mystique’s gut, and brought a tightness to Magneto’s eyes when he held the serum out to the rest of them for inspection.

Mystique tore her eyes from the brightly colored fluid to find Magneto staring at her, a crease between his eyebrows, as he waited for an answer to his question.

Emma was the first to speak. “On paper, it looks as if it should,” she said. The paperwork that Mystique had stolen from Hank’s laboratory crinkled in her hands as she shuffled through the notes. “But none of us are scientists of Hank McCoy’s caliber. We’ll need either human assistance, or to recruit someone with the necessary know how.”

“Recruiting would take too much time. Particularly as we’re looking for such a specific skill and knowledge set,” Magneto decided. He bared his teeth in a malicious grimace of a smile. “Miss Frost, I believe our interests would be best served by application of your talents to this process.”

Emma returned the smile, though hers was one of satisfaction. “Then we don’t need to waste any more time.”

~~~

Sean was being thoroughly annoying.

Hank was trying to look at the hematoxylin and eosin stained slide that he’d put under the microscope of his own tissue sample, hoping to glean some further knowledge of his over-excited mutant state, and Sean kept talking. That meant Hank had to stop looking into the scope and turn his attention to Sean, otherwise Sean would poke him in the shoulder, and ask him questions, forcing his attention.

Hank sighed. “Yes,” he said. “I think it is feasible. I don’t have time to work on that project right now.” He hardly had any time to work on his _own_ project of trying to turn himself back, what with Gus constantly down here with notes about the next big idea he had for some cosmetic or anti-inflammatory drug. Lately, he’d been going on about low-calorie sugar replacements. Hank supposed that there was a modest market for sugar replacement molecules. He had a cousin with diabetes, and that sort of thing would be beneficial and much appreciated. He remembered quite a few birthday parties where Jack would stare forlornly while the other kids ate cake and ice cream and he went without. Hank brought himself back from his reverie and focused on Sean.

“But then I could fly with more maneuverability,” Sean was saying. “Right? If you could rig up some kind of…I don’t know, a rudder?”

“Maybe,” Hank said cautiously. “I could certainly tweak the overall design of your wings.” He really did not think he would be adding a _rudder_ , but there were other things he could do with the design.

“Thanks,” Sean said, and then took a deep breath. Hank had the sudden, inescapable knowledge that Sean was finally about to get to the topic that had brought him down to the lab in the first place. “You doing okay?” Sean asked. He looked around at the lab, which Hank felt keenly aware of—that it had no windows to the exterior, that the overhead lights were too bright, too harsh, and that the overall scent of the space was that of solvents.

“I’m fine,” Hank responded. “Just…fine. I have a lot of projects on my mind.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” Sean said, and he stared hard at Hank. “It was just, last week—“

Hank was very glad that his fur allowed him to blush without being noticed. Of course Sean wanted to talk about last week.

Sean plunged on ahead, heedless of danger. “What did you say to her? Did she tell you _anything_?”

Hank waved a hand dismissively and looked everywhere but at Sean. “Ah,” he said, searching for something to say, something he could admit to without revealing his soul. Last week, Erik _and_ Raven had come to visit the Professor. Charles had just about gone supernova with joy at her return. Coupled with Erik’s visit, Hank was sure that Charles saw it as a sign that the distance between them was shrinking, even if infinitesimally. Hank thought that putting eggs into that sort of basket was completely wasteful.

“You talked to her for over half an hour,” Sean pointed out.

“It was….” Hank struggled to describe how he’d felt. Guilty as hell. She’d come back to the mansion as blue as she’d left, and she held her head up with a maturity that Hank had instantly envied. A tiny grain of regret had bloomed in him. If he had gone with Erik…but no, he could never have done that. In fact, he had difficulty even fathoming how Erik and Raven could leave Charles behind, when he’d been so grievously injured. They’d claimed to be his friend, his family, and they’d left him. Even if Charles harbored no ill will at that, Hank did.

“It was what?” Sean asked.

“Difficult,” Hank admitted. “It wasn’t an easy conversation. She’s still beautiful. But, she isn’t interested in me. Not anymore.”

“You don’t think so?” Sean asked, surprised. “She liked you right off the bat, Hank. Because you looked different. Alex can take out half a mountainside. I can take out the other half. But you. You had a _physical_ mutation. She dug that. You think that because you’re just as blue as she is now, that she’s not interested?”

Hank sat back in shock. He’d underestimated Sean, and his observations. It was easy to because he was so good natured, with a quirky humor, and acted his age even after seeing terrible things, while the rest of them were aging in leaps and bounds with each new horror that they experienced. Raven had liked him almost instantly, before the others had been found, and Hank now wondered if it was only his mutation that she’d been attracted to. It didn’t sit easily. “No,” he said out loud, “she’s not like that.”

“She must have given you a hint. Something?” Sean pressed.

Hank nodded. She’d looked at him, those yellow eyes of hers giving nothing away, and shifted into a copy-cat version of his own fur and fangs, and she’d smiled at him. Touched his hand. “She asked me to join them,” Hank finally admitted. He hadn’t even told this to the Professor. “I turned her down.”

Sean’s eyes were wide. “Don’t you leave us,” he finally said. “Don’t you leave us for _them_.”

“I won’t. Ever,” Hank vowed. Hank wanted more than anything to create the world that Erik and Raven talked about—the sort of one where he and Raven could walk about as they pleased. That looking differently didn’t mean anything other than having to buy specially sized clothes. But he didn’t want it the way they were going at it. The sort of plans that involved sending missiles to kill men on boats, or leaving behind an injured man on a beach with no way to get to a hospital short of a ten hour trip, or dropping people from a hundred feet in the sky. Hank still burned with emotion over those things, a mixture of fear and hate, regret and disbelief. If nothing else, it fueled his talent in the lab. He could make a difference. Down here, in the lab, the things he was doing would create change.

Sean nodded and slapped him on the back. “Good man,” he said, with a pause where he looked as if he had more to say, but then pressed his lips together firmly, and finally left.

Hank breathed more easily with him gone, and finished his slide. Then he went looking for his notes on the original serum. He’d left them somewhere, and hadn’t located them in days.

~~~

“Update?” Magneto asked. He was staring out the window again, a familiar position that Emma had come to expect, though she didn’t believe he ever actually looked at the view. He spent more time inside his head than she spent inside her own, and that was a feat by itself. He had the helmet on, which meant she couldn’t even pick up on the emotional vibe that he gave off, and all she could go by were his facial expressions, which lately didn’t change much.

Emma didn’t need much, actually. The smallest twitch of a facial muscle and Emma knew where Magneto’s thoughts were leading.

“Going well,” she replied. “With Riptide’s assistance, we’ve located and sub-contracted with a small company. The notes Mystique appropriated were enough to reproduce the formula. I have one chemist and two production manufacturers under control. As soon as they serve their purpose I’ll erase their memories.”

A small twitch in Magneto’s cheek, just to the side of his lips, spoke volumes.

“I think for the time being we should leave them alive,” Emma answered the unspoken question. “We may require their services again.”

Magneto waved his hand. “Go on, please.”

“We’ll have production finished by the end of the week. Azazel is scouting for a proving ground as we speak. Best timeline possible, we’ll see effects at the beginning of next month.”

“Excellent,” Magneto said, and he returned his contemplation to outside the window. His dark eyes reflected in the glass, seeing distantly, but ever turning inward.

Emma let herself out of the room. She knew why had turned off his emotions—as far as he was able—and why he wore the helmet.

The initial objective had been to retrieve the notes from the Xavier Mansion. To do that, he’d required Mystique’s assistance. Mystique had served a duel purpose. One, she had distracted Xavier with her very presence, and two, given that Xavier was less prone to pry into her private thoughts, she had the best chance to steal the notes without detection. She had cloaked Magneto’s true purpose for the visit, and kept Xavier on his best behavior.

But now, with the notes in hand, and the plan under way, Magneto could not risk going near the mansion. Even this far away, it was safest to wear the helmet, and block out all contact with such an extraordinary telepath. Any stray thought might give them away, and Xavier’s interest in Magneto had led him to pay far closer attention to Magneto’s movements than was safe for their group.

Emma bowed her head as she closed the door behind her, letting Magneto exist within his own private exile.

~~~

“Professor?” Alex asked.

Charles pulled his gaze from the window. “Yes, Alex?” He could see Alex’s worried expression and Charles inwardly sighed. He had been distracted of late, and needed to get himself back on task. He had others depending on him now, and there was less time for pipedreams.

“Are you in pain?” Alex asked softly, his gaze pointed.

Charles looked down and shook his head. He’d been massaging the muscle area just above his knee. “No, just…phantom aches. They happen sometimes.” Charles pulled his hand away. Thinking he could massage the area was only a comfort to him mentally. He did know better, but it was hard to break such an ingrained habit. The aches were happening more frequently, but he didn’t want the others to be distraught about it. There was nothing they could do, and it was Charles’ burden to bear. “Did you need something, Alex?”

“I was hoping you could talk to Gus?” Alex asked.

“Gus?”

“Yeah,” Alex said and launched into the problem. “Hank’s missing some papers and he asked Gus to find them for him. Because Gus could see where they would finally be found, but Gus is refusing to do it, so Hank got a little steamed and--” Alex shrugged, clearly unhappy with the situation. “They started yelling at each other. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except they did it where some of the students could hear them, and they got upset. One of the kids was upset enough that he accidentally electrified his chair, and another kid sat in it later and…well, her hair will grow back _eventually_ , but now none of the kids will go near Hank or Gus.”

Charles bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. His days were filled with these sorts of problems. This one, perhaps, was a bit more serious than the rest. He needed his older students to not fight amongst themselves and to set shining examples for the younger ones, but he really didn’t expect everyone to behave one hundred percent of the time. “And you think I just need to talk to Gus only?” he asked.

As Alex chewed on that, Charles spent a moment to survey the two students involved in the electrified chair incident. The young girl wasn’t too upset anymore. She’d only lost a few hunks of hair, not all of it. The incident had meant a trip to the hairdresser’s and she now sported a shorter cut, of which the other students had suddenly become enamored. Charles wished, not for the first time, that he could locate someone to help with the female students. Raven would have been so brilliant at it. Charles could envision her growing into a competent teacher and mentor. Pushing aside his regrets, he shifted his attention away from that problem and to the other student involved in the incident.

The boy was still bothered. He had less control over his gift than he wished and it pained him that he’d caused an injury. Charles withdrew, and made a note to speak to the boy, and to organize some additional practice time. A few stories about his own mishaps with his abilities while growing up might help make him feel better, and more time controlling his power adequately would give him more confidence.

“If Gus could just locate the papers, then it’d be over, right? No more argument?” Alex’s assessment of the situation was earnest.

Charles furrowed his brow. “Did Gus say he wouldn’t or _couldn’t_ located these papers?”

Alex shook his head, unsure. “I don’t remember exactly.”

“I’ll ask him about it the next time I see him. Anything else?”

“No,” Alex said slowly, then seemed to reconsider. “It’s just that—Darwin wanted to do some experiments.”

“Experiments?”

“With my power,” Alex said, looking pained.

“Ah,” Charles said, finally understanding. “He wants to practice dissociating and reassociating. Since your power was the one that initially caused him to be able to evolve.” Charles chose his words carefully. “But you have concerns.”

“I killed him,” Alex said. “I thought he was dead, and then I thought I did it again. If something goes wrong—“ He shook his head, his hands balled into fists by his side.

“There’s nothing that says you have to do these experiments,” Charles told him. “Now or ever. Or you could wait. You’ve gained a lot of control over your ability. You may find you will gain enough control to become comfortable with such an experiment at some future point.”

“So I should just wait and see,” Alex said.

Charles nodded. “It seems as good a course to take as any other.”

Alex sighed. “Thanks, Professor.”

“You’re very welcome, Alex.”

Charles watched fondly as Alex left the room. The young man was turning into an exceptional person. He thought quickly on his feet, was brave in dire situations, and actually, genuinely cared about others. Charles could not have been more proud.

He leaned back in his chair, thinking over the conversation. It had reminded him that he’d planned to speak with Armando about what had happen last month at the carnival. With so many other things on his mind, he’d let the need to have the conversation slip away.

Charles’ legs started to ache again, and he absently began to rub them, acknowledging that the aches weren’t truly real anywhere other than in his mind. Still, rubbing them helped. He supposed it was just an emotional balm.

He looked back out the window. Erik had visited two weeks ago, bringing Raven along as his visiting ‘gift’. Charles had been so happy to see them, and to see the confidence shine out in Raven. He missed her terribly. His best friend in the world, and she’d needed to be free of him to find her own place in the world. Charles put his head in his hand. How had he been strong enough to let her go? A more selfish Charles would have pleaded with her to stay. Her absence hurt him more than he wanted to admit, and yet, if he was truly _her_ best friend, then there could have been no other choice. Friendship was a dangerous two-way street, to be sure.

Charles sighed heavily. Two weeks. Which meant it could be a month or more before Erik might visit again. Already his heart ached with the absence of him.

~~~

“We have a small problem,” Emma said. She didn’t like problems, and this one was particularly thorny.

Magneto looked up from the workbook where he was sketching out some dispersal figures. His eyes were hard as agate beneath the helmet, and Emma wondered if the extended exile was already taking a greater toll on Magneto’s psyche than he would admit. It had been just under a month since his last visit to the Xavier Mansion. Motivations were often more like quicksilver than hard bedrock, and Emma suspected that the driving force behind Magneto’s passion for mutant justice and superiority involved a future dream that he was crushing on the way to the endpoint. However, she was in no position to lecture him on the subject.

“Explain,” he said simply.

“There’s been some skimming off the top, as the criminally-minded say.”

“So, they’ve stolen a bit of the feed, have they? Perhaps it isn’t entirely a bad thing. An outlier or two might make it more difficult to track back to us, if ever anyone even caught on—“

“No,” Emma said, cutting him off, and Magneto looked suitably surprised. “The feed went to several farms in Westchester County. There’s every possibility that the eggs might end up at the mansion.”

The information had the effect of a spark leaping from a campfire to some nearby brush. For a moment it smoldered, and then burst into life, a fire that would spread and consume everything it touched.

“Riptide,” Magneto called out. “Azazel.” He stood from his desk, the papers in front of him forgotten. “I have tasks for each of you.”

~~~

Gus waited in the kitchen. The lights were out, except for one dim bulb that kept everything outlined. It was nearly two in the morning and he was starting to get sleepy. He looked at the clock. Maybe another minute or two, at the most.

He checked on the Professor with his own telepathy. It was the extent of his mental reach, and he did it as lightly as he could—just a sweep, a gentle breeze through. He didn’t want to wake the Professor from his nice, deep sleep.

He spent a moment to flick through the future possibilities. Each bubble rising and popping before him. Still the same sequence of events as he’d seen earlier. As he’d seen for weeks now. The future that was coming was like a freight train, traveling at high speed with nearly endless tonnage making its momentum unstoppable. Gus had at first tried to find the ways around it. But if he had set those actions into motion, all would have ended in tears and frustration, endless fighting, and possibly the deaths of his new friends. No, Gus would not allow that.

Everyone at the mansion had been so kind to him, so accepting. Real, genuine friends. Friends like he’d never had before, ever. Not afraid of him. The Professor even looked _delighted_ when Gus told him about future events, as if Gus’ ability was fantastic, amazing, the equivalent of winning the 100 yard dash. Gus felt like he was finally where he belonged, not shoved down to the ground having dirt kicked in his face.

Gus held the object in his hands even more tightly, and vowed that he would do everything in his power to guide the future to the best possible place. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt the Professor.

There was a popping noise and the scent and sight of red mist, and Gus watched as Azazel appeared just in front of the refrigerator. He opened the door and the light inside framed him. His face took on a frustrated look.

“They aren’t in the ice box. I have them over here,” Gus said.

Azazel whirled to face him, tail up and at the ready for an attack. He paused. “You’re the diviner,” he said in his distinctly accented voice. “The one who sees the future.”

“Yes,” Gus said. “I know what you’re doing.” He held up the two cartons of eggs that he’d taken out earlier. “I’ll destroy them in front of you, if you want,” he offered, and watched as Azazel’s face took on a considering look.

“You aren’t waiting for the others to come and attack me all at once?” he asked, with a glance to the door of the kitchen, and a curious tone to his voice.

“No. I know where this is all going to end,” Gus said. “And I have to help you. Charles is asleep tonight, but he isn’t going to be if you keep coming back, and he’ll find out you were here.”

Azazel moved forward so quickly that Gus blinked and suddenly his vision was filled with red. Azazel bounced his forefinger on Gus’ forehead. “Xavier won’t see inside your head that I’ve been here once?”

Gus shook his head. “He’ll know at some point. But not for some time. He won’t know to ask about it for a while. He’s going to be busy with his own interests by tomorrow.”

Azazel kept his finger bouncing on Gus’ forehead and Gus found he’d started to actually like the sensation. It was…intimate. Friendly. “And what do you see in the future, my little friend,” Azazel asked.

Gus smiled. “It’s usually better if I don’t say.” Gus leaned into the bouncing fingertip. “But tell Magneto that he’d be better off with Onondaga County than Oneida.”

Azazel’s eyes flared wide in surprise. “You are well informed,” he said, and Gus didn’t feel like he needed to say anything to that. “I will watch you destroy the eggs,” Azazel finally decided. “For tonight. Then I trust you will destroy the others that come into the house?”

Gus brought the eggs over to the sink and started cracking them open, the gooey insides sliding down the drain. “I won’t let anyone in the house eat any eggs for the foreseeable future,” he vowed.

~~~

Charles was dreaming. He was running, running away from something that chased after him. He was trying to escape through the forest, and the branches were scratching at him. Whatever it was, it was nearly on top of him. There was no time to think, to plan, he had to run.

No! The forest ended on a precipice, and he couldn’t stop.

He fell over the edge, tumbling, and he kicked out in fear—

Charles woke instantly. The pain in his—thigh? Through gasps and gritted teeth, he reached down to his legs. He shouldn’t feel this. A charley-horse? Muscles spasmed, and the pain was definitely real. He could feel the tightened muscle under his fingers, and it was excruciating. He writhed for a minute, pounding his elbows into the mattress while he tried to ride out the pain.

Finally it subsided, leaving behind an ache for which he couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined. He sat there for a few minutes, not quite sure he wanted to test out the theory bubbling inside his mind, in his chest. This _hope_ was a lovely sensation, and he didn’t want to dash it aside quite yet.

He took a deep breath and let it out. Time to get back to sleep. There was work to be done tomorrow and he should put this hope to rest so he could concentrate back on how things were.

Cautiously, he moved his fingers down his thighs, lightly poking, not feeling anything, and not expecting to, and then—

He frowned, and pried at the spot again. Did he feel that? Was it the barest hint of pressure? Not pain, not sensation, not feeling like he remembered it…but it was something. He tried again, and again, until he had possibly numbed the spot with too much attention—he couldn’t tell anymore what he felt or thought he felt, or not.

Charles glanced to the clock. Five thirty. Early, but not too early. He could call out to Hank. Or Armando.

Charles definitely wanted to speak with Armando. He’d put that conversation off for too long.

~~~

Erik listened intently to Azazel’s report. “Charles was sleeping, and no one else bothered you?” he asked again, and Azazel gave him a curt nod. “Good. It sounds as if their prognosticator is on our side. You’re sure of him?” Erik had not spent much time with Gus. He’d spoken with him briefly, used his peculiar abilities once previously, on a mission that Gus had supplied the information for quite willingly. Yet, Erik never had the sense that Gus wanted to join the Brotherhood. Gus was firmly on Charles’ side.

“Yes. He will destroy the eggs,” Azazel said.

“It would only make sense to destroy the eggs in the mansion,” Erik said thoughtfully. “That will ensure their own safety. But to remain quiet?”

“He assured me he would.”

“And then told you that I should choose one county over another. A trick?” Erik looked down at his desk, at his plans. This was only a test case, to begin with. He was not so foolhardy as to over-scale the operation before he was sure of all the particulars. He needed to know about toxicity levels, and if the desired results could be achieved.

“He seemed sincere,” Azazel said, and his tail flicked back and forth, a warning that he was losing patience with the conversation.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Erik said, and Azazel left. Erik drummed his fingers on the table, then sat down and leaned back in his chair. A coin—not _the_ coin, but a nearby one--lifted into the air and began its dance over and under his fingers, while Erik thought over his plan yet one more time.

~~~

“And then?” Charles asked. He was completely, utterly fascinated. Not just because this was about him on a very, very personal level, but because Armando was describing what he had seen after Shaw had forced Alex’s energy on him. A new world was opening, and Charles could only glimpse it through Armando’s eyes, but it was engrossing and captivating, and nearly impossible, yet _true_.

“I don’t know. I told the area to heal,” Armando said with a shrug. He was sitting in the chair next to Charles’ bed, leaning forward, making eye contact and then looking away. He looked upward as he sought for words to describe what he’d seen, what he’d done.

Charles hesitated to ask—he knew how much an invasion it seemed to everyone else that wasn’t a telepath—but he desperately wanted to _know_ it all first hand. “Would you mind?” he asked. “If I?” He wiggled his fingers.

Armando tensed up, but his eyes softened, and Charles was reminded how very, dearly kind Armando was. The young man had a pure, selfless soul. That was why they were even having this conversation in the first place. He’d had the opportunity, and he’d done something, to heal the pain he’d seen in front of him. “Yes,” he finally said after thinking it over. “Go ahead.” He steeled himself, closing his eyes, grabbing the arms of the chair, as if he thought Charles would assault him.

“It won’t hurt,” Charles said and because it helped others to know when to expect the start, he pressed a finger to Armando’s temple. The memories rushed over him like falling into the night sky, and he was tumbled between unknown constellations, burning blindingly bright. Everything was a ballet, a dance, a grind, a puzzle piece fitting lock-step down, but it was all in infinite dimensions, and the expansion of it all fell over him like an alluring, cascading vertigo. He pulled out of Armando’s mind. “Oh,” he said, hardly daring to breathe, trying to remember that he actually did require air. He stared into Armando’s fathomless eyes and he knew in a part of him buried more deeply than he’d ever known existed that he’d never drowned quite so perfectly before. And Armando _knew_ , too.

Armando reached out to touch Charles’ face with his gentle fingers, tracing the line of Charles’ jaw. “Now you know why I want to get back to that.”

“Why did you ever return?” Charles asked, his mind still floating with the memories he’d borrowed. He’d seen his own cells, been dazzled by the membranes and the ions, and the glimpse he’d seen of the nucleus, with its compact chromosomes. Armando had seen without knowing, but Charles had known. An eternity within that cosmos wouldn’t be enough for Charles, and he knew the danger of that siren call.

“Alex,” Armando said. “I knew what it must have done to him. I couldn’t leave him to believe I was dead. Not when I was so _alive_.”

Charles nodded, understanding completely. Every time he returned to his own mind, it had been a conscious choice, to live again, and to return to those who needed him. “But you want to experiment with it. Alex mentioned it.”

“He won’t work with me on it,” Armando said.

“He mentioned some grave concerns.”

“Will you help me convince him?”

“I--” Charles hesitated. If what Armando had done had begun to heal him, then the possibility existed—ever so remote—that Charles might be able to regain function in his legs. Especially if Armando went back, to heal more damage. It was impossible not to want that. Yet, Alex was right. Armando’s emotions and memories had shown him that. If Alex provided Armando with the energy, Armando wouldn’t be beholden to returning again. He could remain in that form of existence. Charles’ heart beat slightly faster in his chest and he ached at the knowledge that it was Armando’s gift, and not his own. Charles would only ever have access to those memories, and never that scintillating cosmos itself. “I have to be honest, Armando. I am very conflicted at the moment.”

Armando gave him a small, fond smile. “It’s a lot to take in at once. At least say we’ll talk about it again.”

“I would talk about this with you at any moment of any day, or night.” Charles reached out his hand and Armando clasped it between his own two. Charles stared down at their entwined hands and he knew the solace of having at least one other person understand the experience, and he knew that was exactly how Armando was feeling, too. Finally. Understood.

~~~

“I thought we had eggs,” Alex said, his head deep into the refrigerator. “I wanted an omelet.”

“Armando bought two dozen just the other day,” Hank said. He sipped at his coffee as he read the newspaper. He tried to read it through every day, just to keep on top of things. If Erik was doing any dark deep plotting, Hank thought perhaps there might hints of things to come mentioned in the news articles. If he could piece things together, he might be able to guess what Erik was up to. Hank narrowed his eyes as Gus entered the kitchen.

He was not happy with Gus at the moment. The guy wouldn’t help him find his missing research notes. Hank tried not to blame Gus—after all, Hank was the one who’d lost them in the first place—but what good was it to have fabulous powers if one didn’t use them to help a friend?

“Hank?” Alex pulled his head out of the fridge. “Everything okay? You’re growling.”

Gus paled, looked between the two of them, and beat a hasty retreat out of the kitchen.

Alex whistled. “Nice going, Hank.”

Hank adjusted the pages of the newspaper. “Eat cereal,” he suggested. “We’ll get more eggs the next time we shop.” He put it entirely out of his mind that _he_ couldn’t go shopping. He had to rely on the others. So far, he hadn’t risked going out into the public sphere. Not while he was still furry.

“Cereal,” Alex said with a heavy voice. “Yum.”

Hank was about to respond, as he was feeling particularly scathing, but the Professor interrupted his thoughts.

 _Hank? Would you mind stopping by the study? I have something I would like to discuss with you._

“Gotta run,” Hank said, instead of the biting remark that had burned through his tongue. “Prof wanted to see me.” He gulped the rest of his coffee and chucked the newspaper over on the side board.

Outside the kitchen, he paused to get his head on straight. He was feeling disgruntled with the whole wide world, cooped up and trapped, but he needed to be back on track before talking with the Professor. “I am a professional,” he said out loud in a calm, soft, dignified voice. “I am not a beast.”

~~~

“Status report?” Magneto asked.

Emma checked her clipboard. She didn’t really need to see the numbers, but it was easier than looking into Magneto’s face. He’d been growing haggard as of late, beneath that monstrous helmet of his. “Better than expected. Our production hit top end as predicted and we’ve distributed the additive.” Producing the feed with embedded serum themselves would have taken too much time. That route was still gearing up for production, and expected to be distributable sometime before fall. For this first test of the serum’s capabilities, they had done the legwork upfront and secretly added serum to already produced feed waiting to be sold. It had speeded up their timeline considerably.

Emma raised an eyebrow at the next bit of information. She’d spoken to Azazel about his clandestine operation into the mansion, and she knew the source. “All accounts show that the feed we adulterated had been purchased. We can assume some feed will be distributed outside that region.” She paused, but Magneto didn’t even twitch at that. “But the majority of it will be within. Eggs produced from chickens being given the feed should have been on the market for about two weeks now.” She flipped over the page on her clipboard. “Given our guess at the rate of build up of the serum in the eggs, and within individuals consuming the eggs, we should start to see incidental rates rising any day now.” From McCoy’s notes, and from Magneto’s information about McCoy’s transformation, it appeared that the serum worked immediately. They had allowed some extra time for the serum to take effect since it had been diluted down through the food chain, but Emma suspected that results would become apparent quite quickly.

Magento nodded and looked thoughtful. “An excellent report, thank you, Miss Frost.” He rubbed his fingers against his chin. “Have you given thought to how you will canvas the area, to begin to assess efficacy of the serum?”

“Yes,” Emma said. “I’ve already done some baseline sampling. With Azazel’s help, we’ve picked several coordinates. Particularly within the largest city in the county, the density of the population made it much more time efficient.”

Magneto exhibited a tight smile. “Gus’ advice,” he said. “The other county was attractive because of its higher levels of farming, but I believe he was right. The population density favored the experiment conduction where he suggested.”

“It was helpful,” Emma said. She referred back to the clipboard. Now she was dealing with larger numbers, and locations, that she did need to keep perfect track of. “Baseline review showed between one and ten percent of the population exhibiting mutant talents at some level.” She shook her head. “For whatever reason, the mutations did appear to be lower ability-class. Not on the level of power that those we’ve previously encountered have exhibited.”

“That was my experience as well, previously,” he said, his words guarded and bland, but Emma knew he was referring to his and Xavier’s previous recruiting campaign. “We had to weed through a lot of available subjects to find those that were…powerful.”

“Given the baseline, I would expect anywhere from twenty to fifty percent alteration. Or zero, of course.”

“Zero?”

“We didn’t do any control studies in the lab,” Emma said. “We determined that kidnapping subjects might alert the authorities to our presence and operations.” She didn’t add that kidnapping people for experimental purposes—unless they had done it very, very far away from the Xavier mansion—would have certainly brought Xavier down on them. Or that Emma suspected that Magneto was making an attempt not to muddy the waters too much.

What they were doing was an assault, certainly, but with a reward balance that overwhelmed the negative side. Kidnapping people to be lab rats stepped over a line, more for _Xavier_ than Magneto, though Emma had felt Magneto’s revulsion at anything to do with in-house experimenting, but it was Xavier’s morals that they danced around. There might come a breaking point, somewhere in the future, as the project developed, but they were still in the early stages, and Magneto was treading finely. He wanted to leave that prodigal return as an option on the board for as long as he could keep that piece in play. For the time being, Emma was prepared to let the project continue as it was, and not push Magneto to expand it before they knew the extent of its affected changes.

“And the twenty to fifty percent?”

“I can only tell if someone is a mutant, not if they’re carrying the gene but not displaying. Calculations are hypothetical best guesses. Also, some segment of the population is vegetarian, and therefore will not intake the serum. “The altered diet lifestyle had hit home. None of them were eating anything with chicken or eggs as a product anymore. Emma didn’t want to find herself being a test subject in her own experiment. She only mildly missed the foods.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Miss Frost.”

“Thank you. I’ll start making the comparison sweeps by the end of the week.”

~~~

“Two more laps!” Sean said before plunging back into the water in front of him. He held his breath for half the length of the pool and then came up to the surface again and started swimming hard.

The Professor beat him to the wall, of course.

Sean had the edge on him when it came to turning around, but they were neck and neck again by the time they hit the end. Sean was mostly certain that the Professor had not beaten him on purpose, but always tried to come in as a tie. “Cool down?” Sean asked as he flopped over on his back and floated there.

 _Yes, Sean,_ came the reply, because both their ears were covered with water, and neither of them could hear. _Thank you for the workout._

Anytime, Sean thought back, and got a warm feeling flashed at him. Sean looked up at the ceiling and was happy. He’d been on the swim team at school, before he’d come to join Charles’ bunch, and he’d never been happier than when he’d been swimming. Muscles working, breathing rhythmic. He supposed it had helped with the flying. It was _like_ flying, just different. Less weight. But the movements were the same. The way he held his body position, how he turned his head, moved his arms.

He was especially glad to have the Professor swim with him. As exercise went, it was a pretty lonely venture. In some ways, it was an excellent time for introspection, and Sean had a lot of thoughts that always needed to be sorted out. But with the Professor, if he wanted, they could have a conversation. That was unexpectedly neat.

Sean took a deep breath and let himself sink, then kicked and broke the surface. He looked over. “You need help getting out of that stuff?” he asked.

Hank had designed a clever little foam float to attach to his legs, so that he could swim with his arms and maintain position with his torso. It was why Sean beat him with the turns—it took a little longer for the Prof to manage the inertia—but then he would catch up on the length of the pool. The Professor had really developed some enviable arm and back strength. Sean rolled his shoulders, feeling his own muscles respond. Yeah, that had been a good workout. He would be sore later.

“I believe I can handle the float,” the Professor said.

Hank’s shadow suddenly loomed over Sean and Sean slapped the water, sending a splash his way. Hank recoiled with a baring of teeth.

“I’ll get you next time,” Sean promised. Hank never swam. Sean couldn’t blame him. He supposed if he had to deal with wet fur that didn’t dry for hours, he wouldn’t want to get wet very often either.

“You haven’t gotten me yet,” Hank said darkly. Sean considered that for a moment, but didn’t reply. He only meant the splashing to be friendly. It wasn’t enough water to really get Hank wet. Lately Hank had been overly edgy, and Sean wasn’t exactly sure why, but he had noticed it. He wondered if it had to do with Raven. That was certainly an issue without closure.

“Professor? Are you up to some more therapy? I finally got that contraption installed correctly.” Hank hovered near the edge of the pool and only a quick look from the Professor kept Sean from making another attempt with the splashing.

“I suppose so, Hank. Need to work on both arms and legs.” He sighed, and Sean thought the Professor sounded tired. He was certainly pushing himself, both with the students and with his own physical development.

Sean turned in circles in the water, keeping an eye on his swim partner. It had been a while now, and the recovery had been remarkable, if slow and probably frustrating as all hell.

As information tended to do in the mansion, Sean had initially heard it from Hank who’d gotten the whole tale from the Professor. While Sean had been babysitting the youngsters, back during the carnival incident, Alex and Darwin had been fighting off the Professor’s insane, enraged step-brother, and Darwin had _done something_. Nobody had adequately explained that, and Sean suspected nobody but Darwin could, but Darwin grew very quiet about it whenever it got brought up because Alex always looked like he was about to have a stroke at the topic.

The Professor didn’t hesitate to talk about his recovery, especially while they swam, so Sean did know more about it. So far, though, it had been progress in terms of fractions of inches, not leaps and bounds. The Professor had gotten some sensation back, and some really minor muscle control. He could contract certain muscles on command. All of which was a major miracle by itself, but of course, Sean knew, the ultimate goal would be walking again.

As the Professor removed the floatation device and pulled himself out of the pool using the inlaid stairs, Sean perched himself on the edge of the pool. “You’re going to lap me,” Sean grumbled in a joking way, “when you start doing flip turns.”

Just the possibility of doing flip turns made the Professor’s eyes light up. “I hope so, Sean,” he said. “Then we’ll have a real race.”

“It’ll happen,” Sean said quietly. “My mum says all good things come to those who wait.”

The Professor smiled. “I’ve heard that one.”

Then, without really thinking about it, Sean said, “And just think how impressed Erik will be when he sees--” Sean bit his tongue and wished he could pull those words back. It had been two months since Erik had last visited the mansion. His lengthy absence had started to tell on the Professor, though nobody wanted to say it out loud.

The Professor’s face took on a pinched look and the brightness dimmed in his eyes until there was nothing left but shadows. “I’ll have to keep working at it,” he said. “To have something to show him.”

Hank glared at Sean and Sean pushed himself off the wall and back into the pool, where he sunk below the surface and wished he were a fish.

~~~

“I just bought a dozen eggs yesterday,” Alex complained as he closed the door to the fridge. He shook his head. “Jeez, it’s been…what? A month? Two? I can’t remember the last time I had scrambled eggs. Or…a muffin. Eggs go into muffins, right?”

Darwin raised an eyebrow at that. “Kind of late to bake. Nobody here bakes anyway,” he said. It was after midnight, and they’d come down looking for a snack.

“Of course not. We’d have to have eggs to bake,” Alex replied sourly, scowling.

Darwin snorted, then laughed. Then doubled over laughing. “Oh,” he said. “Your face.”

“My face?” Alex asked, wavering between getting ticked off, or laughing with Darwin.

“You just looked so…so….” Darwin shook his head helplessly, then shrugged. “Adorable,” he finally admitted.

“Adorable?” Alex echoed, digesting that. He moved away from the fridge and sat down at the table opposite Darwin. “That’s not very flattering,” he said.

“You don’t think so?” Darwin asked. He leaned forward with a wide smile, his eyes staring straight at Alex. “Highest form of a compliment I could think of.”

Alex felt something tighten in his chest. “You think I’m adorable?” he asked, the words sounding too high pitched even as he said them.

“Yeah,” Darwin said, not even pausing to consider his answer. “Completely.”

This was it, Alex thought. The talk. He’d been dancing around Darwin ever since his return, and even more so when he’d learned what he’d been able to do with the Professor. “I’ll do it,” he said softly, closing his eyes. He’d been holding out, selfishly wanting Darwin to stay, to stay with their group, to stay with him. Darwin hadn’t died, and while Alex couldn’t shed the feeling of guilt from that day, it wasn’t the full excuse for why he’d refused Darwin’s requests.

“Do what?” Darwin asked.

Alex swallowed at the lump in his throat. “You wanted my energy, so you could go back to—to—what you were. You can have it.”

“Alex,” Darwin said, and he reached out a hand to touch Alex on the shoulder. “I won’t lie to you. Part of me wants that. Very much. It’s simpler, to be that way. But I came back for a reason, and I’m not done yet.” He put his hands behind his head, elbows akimbo, and he slid down in his chair, the picture of nonchalance. “I’m willing to ride it out, see how things go.”

Alex frowned. “I don’t understand. Back for what reason? See what things?”

Darwin straightened up, suddenly intent on the conversation. He looked around, but the kitchen was empty except for them. “For you, Alex. I came back for you.”

Alex hardly dared to breathe. “But you wanted my energy to go back….”

“No, man,” Darwin said. “I meant it when I said I just wanted to experiment. Just to see what I could do. How fast I could do it, come and go. Maybe get to the point where I could do it on my own, without having to use your energy to jumpstart the adaptation. As for the rest. Hey. That’s an ever changing situation. I can wait.”

Alex shook his head. “What situation?” he demanded, pushing the conversation, pushing the boundaries that he could feel had been set. Darwin was talking in riddles, he thought. Whatever he _meant_ , Alex didn’t get it.

Darwin leaned forward and reached his hand out. This time he reached for Alex’s face, and held his chin in his hand. It was a firm grip, but gentle. Darwin made sure to turn Alex’s face so that they were staring straight at one another. “I came back for you,” he said, each word imbued with deeper meaning. “There was everything all around me, things I don’t have words to explain, and it was beautiful, like being in a version of heaven, and every time you let go, used your power, I moved toward you. Tracked you. Until I finally caught up.” Darwin’s hand didn’t waver. “Look, I know I asked you to fire on Shaw. You wouldn’t have unless I forced you. And then I was gone, and that hurt you.”

Alex sucked in air, trying to keep those emotions under control. There was no way to heal that over—he just had to keep it buried as deep as he could shove it. Watching Darwin explode into light and dust and _nothingness_ ….

“I wanted to let you know I was okay,” Darwin said, and the way his eyes flickered, Alex could guess he was remembering all those indescribable things he had seen. “I don’t know what it is about you, but we had a rapport from the moment we met. I think we’re meant to be friends, Alex. Meant to be…I don’t know. Brothers. Family. Something. But I feel that.”

Alex found he was nodding, and that he’d reached up to cover Darwin’s hand with his own. There had always been something, he acknowledged. That was why he couldn’t bear the thought of Darwin _going away_. Using Alex’s own power to jump to that other form. That thought had always hurt like betrayal. Whatever it was, between the two of them, Alex didn’t necessarily understand it, but…. “I feel it, too,” he said.

~~~

Erik was in the warehouse moving enormous pallets of grain around through sheer will and mutant ability. It was nothing even close to what he’d done with the submarine, though now he moved things through pure force of mental-muscle, something closer akin to doggedness, rather than rage. And certainly never serenity. He had left every chance at serenity behind him, and not only thrown the key away, but incinerated it to cinders.

“We do have workers for this,” Emma observed from where she stood in the doorway. A quirk to her mouth told Erik that she knew he wanted this project moved along more quickly. They’d had such good results so far.

“This is more efficient,” Erik said. “I can do in a single hour what would take them three days with their machinery.” The pallets themselves were wood, but it only took the sliding of metal crossbars through their crisscrossed hatching to allow Erik to move the pallets.

Erik was eager to continue with the project. Their initial trials had gone better than he could have ever even hoped. This second phase required more production, more distribution, and considerably more effort. Erik was willing to give every drop of energy he had. This scheme was the one that would bring about the fruition of his plans.

Erik motioned to the steel bars to go under more sets of pallets, and then moved those across the warehouse with a single gesture. “Every day that passes is another day we may be exposed,” Erik reminded her.

“In two weeks,” Emma observed, her voice flat and cold, “it will be beyond even Xavier’s abilities to undo.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” Erik said. “He’s put into motion quite a few of those ideas of his about politics.”

Emma waved a hand. “His two pet candidates running for the legislature?” she scoffed. “They haven’t even been elected yet, and their chances of success are slim. His efforts will take years to be truly useful.”

Erik shifted even more pallets across the room, stacking them meticulously, ready for loading onto trucks in the morning. “His efforts assist our own,” Erik said. “He doesn’t know it, but our two schemes dovetail perfectly. The tighter he pulls his end, the tighter we pull our end, the harder it will be to unravel the knot.”

Emma sighed. “Unless the humans decide to cut the knot in half.”

Erik only nodded at her, and kept the pallets humming through the air.

~~~

With summer waning and fall threatening, Gus volunteered to do the grocery shopping for the week. He did not purchase any eggs, glad for once not to waste them down the drain. He wished that the red teleporter would have come back, perhaps at least once even, just to check to see that he was still complicit in their agreement, but he never did. Gus touched the center of his forehead, where that finger had bounced. There were many futures possible where Gus might meet the man again, and he was hopeful.

Before leaving town, Gus stopped at the local men’s clothing store. Summer clothes were tucked away in the back, and fall clothes were on display now, signaling that the changing of the seasons was not far off.

Gus waited patiently for the attention of the shop assistant. The man frowned down at him, but Gus smiled back. “I need a trench coat,” Gus said. “And a matching hat.”

The assistant’s dour expression shifted as he realized that a sale was more than likely. “Of course.” He eyed Gus. “Do you know your measurements, or shall I take them for you?”

“I need the largest size you have,” Gus said. “It’s for a gift for my brother. He’s a big guy.” Gus made a mild deprecating motion at his own slim build. “I’m not exactly sure of his measurements.”

“Ah, of course.” The assistant looked thoughtful. “I believe I have a suggestion. Come this way.”

The trench coat that Gus wanted was, of course, exactly where he’d known it would be. It was a very dark grey, though something about the color hinted at a vague blue-ness. It had well shaped lapels with buttons that went all the way to the collar, and deep, broad pockets just perfect for large hands, and a wide belt with a sturdy buckle. There was a matching hat, with a wonderful brim just deep enough to put the face into shadow without appearing too broad.

Gus happily bought both, buying the largest size the shop had in both, and watched as the man carefully wrapped each into boxes.

“Your brother will really find these useful,” the assistant said as he put the tops on the boxes and finished the sale. With the certainly that he’d made the sale, the assistant had become progressively more jovial and friendly. “They’ll look good for years to come. This coat is the sort you buy and can use for decades.”

“Thank you,” Gus said. “I’m glad to know they’re so durable.”

Gus made a quick stop, also, at the small sewing shop before heading back to the mansion. The older woman there had been instantly friendly to him, unlike the shop assistant.

“I can match that color, no problem,” she’d declared, and then brought forth thread and patches. “Well, maybe not exactly for the zipper or the buttons,” she said, and then produced several alternates in complimentary tones that would work just as well.

“It’s a beautiful coat all by itself,” the woman said as she tabulated the bill. “Why do you want to change it?”

Gus shrugged. “Personal preference,” he said, and then took a quick look into the soap-bubble possibilities of the woman’s future. “I really appreciate your help with all this,” he said. “It leaves me enough time to get my brakes checked on the car. They’re squealing a bit,” he said, although the car did nothing of the sort.

“Squealing?” the woman asked, suddenly interested. “Mine are, too.”

“You should get them checked,” Gus told her. “They can fail on you rather quickly. You wouldn’t want to rear end someone. Repairs can be expensive.”

“I think I will,” the woman said as she bagged the items and handed them over. “I’m glad you reminded me.” She put her hand on her phone. “I’ll call George down at the station right now, before I forget.”

Gus nodded and smiled, and took his purchases and left. He flipped through the streamlines of the future, and was glad to see that things had changed for the better.

Gus puttered on home in Charles’ car. The house was quiet and a gentle mind sweep showed that Charles was out in the garden with Darwin and Alex, and Hank was in the classroom with the students, showing them something about staining incredibly thin sections of onion skin. Sean was practicing his flying with one of the other students who had the ability to levitate.

He put the groceries away, and then went to his room, and took the supplies out. The hat had no metal in it, which was good as Gus’ skills weren’t up to fixing the hat. The trench coat had snaps in addition to buttons, which Gus would take out and replace with small black buttons and button holes. That was easily done. The difficult part would be to replace the metal zipper with the plastic one that he had bought. Gus flexed his hands and ran his fingers along the zipper. He could do this.

~~~

Mystique looked up as Emma entered the room. She’d been reading the newspaper, but it had been hard to concentrate on it. She was too excited. The future looked better than it ever had before. “Is he still at the warehouse?”

“Yes,” Emma said. “The last shipment goes out tomorrow.”

Mystique sighed. “It’ll pretty much be over, then.”

“For the time being,” Emma said. “There will be a lot of waiting to see how events unfold from our machinations.”

“He’s going to be insufferable while we wait,” Mystique said, grinning. “He’s not good at _waiting_.”

“I suspect he’ll have another plan for us to engage in for the meantime.”

“A rolling stone gathers no moss,” Mystique said. She tilted her head. “You know, tomorrow, we should get a bottle of champagne. To celebrate. Just enough for toasting,” she said hastily as Emma’s face took on a studied frown. “Mark the end of the project.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Emma said, slowly. “It might be a good idea, to put the final point on it, for the time being.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Magneto will be at the warehouse, of course, so we’ll have to do it there. After the truck takes the last shipment out.”

“Perfect,” Mystique said. “Maybe it’ll get his mind off…things.”

“I doubt it,” Emma said. “But it is a nice idea, all the same.”

~~~

Hank almost couldn’t finish reading the newspaper. He gripped it hard enough to bunch it and tatter it with his claws. Hell, he thought. Damn and hell and damn again, he thought.

The entire summer came crashing in on his memory: the carnival, the visit --oh, fucking hell, he’s been such a chump—and Gus’ evasiveness, and the total absence of any visits now for nearly five months now.

Angry and swearing, Hank stomped down to the area where they kept the Cerebro print-outs. Charles wouldn’t admit it, but he did keep tabs. Just because Erik wore that blocking helmet didn’t mean any of the others did. And Emma Frost could only block the rest of them part of the day. They didn’t all wake up and go to bed at the exact same time every day, and she had to sleep herself at some point. There were gaps that Hank knew Charles exploited.

Hank read through the read-outs, growling to himself as he located the most recent coordinates. It was from two months ago, but Hank suspected that they hadn’t changed locations very much.

Hank treaded heavily upstairs, trying to decide what to do. He could go to Charles and the others and…what? Tell them that he thought Raven had stolen his serum notes? That he was worried that they’d been using the serum on random mutants. He wasn’t sure. He only had vague newspaper articles about unexplained fires, explosions, missing people. Incidents had been high enough in upstate that Hank had begun to subscribe to several out of town newspapers that summer. He’d been suspicious, but hadn’t put two and two together until—Hank stopped in his tracks. Fucking Gus. He’d _known_. Gus had refused to locate his serum notes all summer long. Hell, hell, hell.

Hank detoured to Gus’ room. First he’d pound Gus into a small, pulpy-mash. Then he’d go to Charles and tell him what he’d learned—no. He couldn’t. Charles and the others had taken the students out to some Halloween dance in town. A treat for the students working so diligently on mastering their abilities. They wouldn’t be back for hours. As usual, Hank had stayed behind.

Hank paused. He could just go and get his notes back himself. It was the one night of the year that Hank could go outside. Halloween. Anyone who saw him would think he was in a costume. The one night where he could move about freely.

A strange sensation of freedom flooded through Hank. He could leave the mansion. Leave the grounds. The thought of doing so was intoxicating. He’d been holed up here, afraid, exiled, jailed even though he’d done nothing wrong, and yet, here was opportunity. Hank swallowed, excitement thrumming through him, making his hands shake. He wanted to be outside. Away. He could do this.

Hank stopped at Gus’ door and banged on it. Gus didn’t often leave the confines of the mansion, either. He certainly didn’t choose to go anywhere with crowds. Too many futures, he’d always cited, and Hank had no doubt it was true.

Gus opened the door after a single, hard knock, as if he’d been expecting Hank. “Hank,” he said. “Halloween already? Good. I just finished the alterations.” Gus turned around and picked up something from his bed. He held it out to Hank.

Disarmed, Hank didn’t immediately go into his rant about the serum notes. “What’s this?”

“A trench coat. For you,” Gus said. “I took out all the metal. So you’ll be safe.” He turned and retrieved a hat box from the corner of his room, and Hank could see that there were thread and scissors, bits of fabric, and little metal snaps scattered all over the floor.

“For me?” Hank looked over the trench coat. It was huge. It might actually fit him. Gus opened the hat box and Hank reached in to take out the matching hat. “Why?”

“You’re going out, aren’t you?” Gus said. “You needed a coat. It’s cold. It might even snow later.” He tilted his head. “Yes, I think it will snow. It’ll melt in the morning, though. Just an inch. But you’d better be careful driving. I don’t think Charles had the tires changed out yet. The roads will be slippery.”

“Where are they?” Hank said as he digested all that Gus had told him.

“A warehouse in upstate. Let me write down the address. The one you got from Cerebro is their headquarters. They won’t be there tonight.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of knowing the future?” Hank asked.

“Yes,” Gus said. “But we play the hand we’re dealt. I wouldn’t know how to live if I suddenly couldn’t.” He looked up at Hank with a quizzical expression on his face. “You don’t think you’d miss being the way you are now, but you should consider that you might.”

“Never,” Hank said, and meant it. It reminded him that he needed those serum notes back. He glared down at Gus, the gift of the trench coat momentarily forgotten. “Why did you wait so long? You knew they’d taken the notes!”

“I did,” Gus admitted. “The alternate futures from earlier discovery would have been…unacceptable.”

Hank reached down and put his paws on Gus’ shoulder, giving a light shake that rattled Gus. “What else don’t I know? What else!”

“No-nothing!” Gus gasped and he tried to pull away. Hank let go and Gus fell down on his backside. “If there had been any other way—“ Gus was crying now. Sobbing. “Please—“

Hank left him. He took the trench coat and the hat. In the hallway he put them on and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked a bit like Humphrey Bogart. He narrowed his eyes, set his shoulders, and went on his mission.

~~~

The champagne had been a spectacular idea.

Mystique had procured identical crystal champagne flutes and it lent an air of solemnity and heightened grandeur to the whole thing.

She had watched Erik’s eyes as the last truck had driven off, the cargo safe inside. His eyes had been hooded, and sadder than she’d ever seen them.

Emma had put a hand on Mystique’s shoulder, which wasn’t a comfort at all. Emma didn’t do comforting very well, but Mystique could appreciate that she’d at least tried. “He looks as if he’s just put the last nail into his own coffin,” Emma whispered. “Perhaps now would be the time to bring out the bubbly.”

“What’s this?” Erik asked as Mystique handed him the flute.

“A celebration,” Mystique said. “We’ve just changed the future, you know. We did it. _You_ did it. Instead of waiting, we’ve brought the future into the here and now. You should be proud.”

“Proud?” Erik mused. “Yes. I suppose that is true. We should all be proud.” He lifted the flute in agreement. “A celebration of this moment is precisely what we should have.”

Mystique couldn’t help but feel that his celebration would be more like the drinking after a funeral, but she let it slide. The others needed it just as much, and perhaps more, than Erik did.

She handed flutes to Angel, Azazel, and Riptide.

“Will you do the honors?” Emma handed the bottle to Erik.

“Yes, of course.” Erik held the bottle out. There was metal twisted around the cork, but the rest of the bottle was pure glass. He pulled the cork and it popped loudly.

Angel gave a cheer, and Azazel and Riptide clapped politely, their smiles wide and genuine.

Emma took the bottle and started to pour.

“To our success,” Erik said and raised his glass. “To a new world.”

“Yes!” Mystique said, and they all clinked glasses. There, in the middle of the empty warehouse, she felt as light and bubbly as the champagne. It was going to happen. She had helped to change the world.

Then there came a hard knock on the side door of the warehouse, and Emma’s smile faltered.

“We have company,” she said. “A very angry Dr. McCoy is outside. He wants his serum notes back.”

~~~

Erik regarded Hank McCoy with calm detachment. He didn’t have even the barest scrap of metal on him, although his coat and hat did give him a dashing air. Clever. But not very smart. The idiot had come alone. “Of course you may have your notes back,” he finally said. He gave a nod to Azazel. “Please retrieve them, if you would. Hindsight is so very frustrating,” he said. “I suppose I should have returned them to your lab at some point.”

“My notes, please,” Hank said, holding out a hand, waiting for them. His voice was firm. “I’m not here to fight. I just want what is mine.”

Azazel disappeared and reappeared a moment later, a sheaf of wrinkled papers in one hand. He left the notes on the floor of the warehouse.

Hank slowly moved to picked them up. “Thank you.” He glanced briefly at Mystique, who held her head up even higher. “You’re all nothing but petty thieves,” he said, his disgust clear.

It must have struck a cord with Mystique because her hands balled up into fists that she put on her hips. Her mouth opened to backlash out and Erik roughly put an arm around her. She pulled up short, shuddering with fury, but holding her tongue. “Not now, Mystique,” he whispered. “We have copies of the information. Let him go.”

Emma suddenly held out a hand, fingers splayed. “I don’t think so,” she said, and Hank froze where he was.

“Miss Frost?” Erik asked quietly. McCoy had worn no metal, but he’d momentarily forgotten that all telepaths weren’t as nice as those he played house with.

“If we let him go, he’ll tell Xavier,” she said. “We should hold on to him. At least for a little while. Just to make sure that what we’ve set into motion cannot be halted.”

“It’s far too late for that to worry us,” Erik said softly. “You said yourself that after today, there would be no turning back.” Emma glanced at him. It was a focused, hard, appraising look, and Erik acceded. “As you wish. But let’s try not to kill him. That would bring Xavier down on us. And that’s a fight that is a waste of our time and energies.”

“Sleep,” Emma said out loud and McCoy instantly dropped.

Then the far wall exploded.

~~~

Charles was more afraid than he wanted to admit, not afraid for himself, but for Hank. As soon as Alex blasted a hole in the side of the warehouse, Charles did what should have been unthinkable to him previously. He froze everyone in Erik’s group. He had caught Emma Frost just before she turned into her diamond form, though he caught the glittering diamond-thoughts in her mind, a moment for her to focus and she would have been unassailable. She was struggling against him, but he could hold her for now.

Everyone but Erik, of course.

Erik responded by dragging his wheelchair twenty feet into the air. “Release them!” he ordered.

Charles didn’t have much patience for this. “No, Erik. I’m here for Hank, and then we’ll go.”

“He came here,” Erik said, “on his own.”

“And you were going to keep him,” Charles countered. Gus had immediately contacted him after Hank had gone, and they’d shuffled the students out of the dance and back to the mansion. It hurt to look at Erik. He had the helmet on, his thoughts completely obscured. It had been months and months without contact, and Charles had finally started to accept that Erik wasn’t going to return. That something between them must have broken, though he didn’t understand what. He couldn’t read Erik now, but he could see the expression on Erik’s face. The coldness there astounded him.

“We’ve got him,” Armando said. He and Sean were struggling with Hank’s bulk, but they were able to carry him out. Alex stayed near Charles, facing Erik with grim determination, and Charles had no doubt that he would fire if Erik did something too threatening to ignore.

Charles pulled his attention from Erik for a moment and saw the papers on the floor. “Alex, would you gather those?” he asked softly. He was still hovering in the air.

Guardedly, Alex did, still keeping himself facing Erik. He scooped up the papers and looked down at the quickly, frowning. “I think…I think it’s the notes for Hank’s serum,” he said.

“Serum?” Charles turned his face to Erik. “What have you done?”

“It’s too late,” Erik said, “there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Charles desperately flung his mind into the closest opponent—Riptide—and shuffled through his memories. Chickens. Feeding. Serum. “No, Erik,” Charles said, his voice catching on a near-sob. “No….”

Erik looked at him, and it was such a sad, inconsolable expression that a lump formed in Charles’ throat. “You thought I wasn’t listening to you,” Erik said. “I listened to every word. Every word.”

“Erik….”

“When we ate the peas, and you spoke of genetics. About the flowers. Red and white, and all the pink in-between.”

Charles leaned forward in his chair. The conversation that Erik spoke of had finally come to his mind. “Those were _plants_ ,” he said, throat hurting, voice rough. “Not people!”

>   
> 
>
>>   
> __
>> 
>> _Midnight was a short ways off and they were both growing sleepy. Erik ran his hands down Charles’ shoulders and kneaded at the muscles of his back. “Hungry?” he asked. “We never did get your corn dog.”_
>> 
>>  _“A little,” Charles admitted._
>> 
>>  _“I’ll be right back.” Erik crawled from the bed, disappeared into the hallway, and returned a few minutes later with the carton of peapods in his hand. He settled himself next to Charles. “Shall I peel these for you?” he asked, a wicked glint in his eyes._
>> 
>>  _“I’ll help,” Charles said, and reached for one of the smooth, plump green pods. As he split it with the nails of his thumbs he said, “You know, back in the 1800s there was a monk that did marvelous work with peas.”_
>> 
>>  _“Oh?” Erik asked, appearing mildly disinterested. He had already split open a pod and scooped out the peas. He fed them one by one to Charles, and they were sweet, slightly crunchy, and tasted like he imagined the color green would—alive, fresh, tender._
>> 
>>  _“He grew thousands of peas. Bred them true, for a whole bunch of characteristics. Flower color. Pea shape. The color of the pods. Seven or eight different things. Then he bred them with each other, and meticulously counted how they came out for each characteristic.”_
>> 
>>  _“Busy monk.”_
>> 
>>  _“I don’t think they had radio and television and other distractions back then.” Charles chuckled and continued. “Brilliant mathematics, of course. Luckily he picked the right sort of characteristics. Human genetics are not often as straight forward. But he came up with many of the terms. Dominance, recessive. Round peas were dominant, for example. Wrinkled peas were recessive.”_
>> 
>>  _“Like these?” Erik pushed another set of round peas into Charles mouth._
>> 
>>  _Charles chewed. “Probably very similar to these. But he’d get round peas even when he mated round and wrinkled, but when he mated those second generation offspring, he got some round and some wrinkled. Thus, he discovered the concept of homozygous and heterozygous, and phenotype and genotype. Since he was dealing with complete dominance and one set of alleles, he got the ratios correct. He wrote it all up, but nobody rediscovered it for more than a hundred years.”_
>> 
>>  _“Smart man. Needed a better publicist.”_
>> 
>>  _Charles snorted. Then he went back to talking about the peas. He loved to talk about genetics. “Later on, they figured out about incomplete dominance. There’s another pea flower where you have red and white, and pink flowers.”_
>> 
>>  _“Sounds lovely.”_
>> 
>>  _“Yes, well, the red flowers were homozygous dominant, and the white were homozygous recessive, and the pink flowers were the ones with an allele of each.”_
>> 
>>  _“I love when you talk dirty to me,” Erik whispered in his ear._
>> 
>>  _Charles sighed, his mind still on his old studies. “I sort of have a theory about that—about that with mutants I mean. I think we might be dealing with extreme polymorphism. Probably at least three genes. Maybe one of them codes for an enzyme. That might explain the different levels observed. Why one individual has more…oomph, I guess. Power levels.”_
>> 
>>  _Erik had grown still next to him._
>> 
>>  _“I’m boring you.”_
>> 
>>  _“Not at all.” Erik split another pod and fed the peas to Charles slowly, his fingers lingering on Charles’ lips. “I love to hear your voice.”_
>> 
>>  _Charles wrapped his arms around Erik, loving the warmth of his skin, the scent of him, the familiar feel of muscle and bone and body underneath his arms. “You can’t hear me when you aren’t here.”_
>> 
>>  _“I know,” Erik said, and the mournful tone of his voice caused Charles to open his eyes. “Someday, Charles. Someday.”_
>> 
>>  __
> 
>   
> 

“Erik….” Charles dragged in a shuddering breath. “The serum—“

“Your theories were remarkably correct,” Erik said coldly. “We knew the serum worked on at least one of the genes. More mutants, Charles. The mutant gene exists in more than exhibit the power, hiding out, if you will. Application of the serum causes a change in the dominance somehow. Anyone with even one allele will start to exhibit mutant abilities. It’s hereditary. All those heterozygous people, with potential. They’ve started to exhibit it now. Let the politicians make their laws, when nearly fifty percent of the population are mutants, the power balance will swing more in our favor.”

“But you changed them,” Charles said. “They weren’t meant—“

“So far,” Erik said, gaze direct and piercing, “no one has died. That might not be so. You wanted to stop a war, Charles. I say a war might be coming, but if you want to avoid it, this is the way. You just wouldn’t do the dirty work.”

“Erik, no!” Charles couldn’t even begin to contemplate the horror that he was trying to wrap his mind around. “All those people,” he said, lamenting them each. “How could you do this? How?”

“I know you can’t ever forgive me,” Erik said. “But it is already done. We wanted the same thing. You just wanted to reach the conclusion in a different way. And I realize that I have severed between us whatever it was that we had. I accept this. My heart will mourn for you forever,” he said softly.

“Oh, Erik, no. You aren’t a martyr in this!”

“Aren’t I?” Erik smiled sadly. “Perhaps not of the sort that dies in a blaze of glory. But you’re no longer in my head, and I did that.” He rapped his knuckles on his helmet. “You’re no longer in my bed, and I did that. I’m no longer in your heart, and I did that. I wanted a world where we would all be safe, to be mutants, to be what we are. That’s the world that is coming to us. I required that world, if I were to be able to spend all the rest of my days with you, safe, not hunted down and destroyed. But to reach that goal, I had to act in ways that you cannot forgive. So in succeeding, I have utterly failed. Good-bye, Charles.” He slowly lowered Charles’ wheelchair to the ground, and then moved the chair backwards, toward the opening in the wall. Beside him, Alex was flung backwards as well.

“No!” Charles said. Desperately he lunged forward, falling out of his chair before it reached the wall. He hit the ground hard and it knocked his breath from him. He felt Emma struggle, and it took all his will to keep them all under control. “Erik—“

“Belt buckle,” Erik said, and then Charles was floating away into the night, held up awkwardly by his belt, and Emma had scintillated into her diamond form, and they were all lost to him.

~~~

November came and went, and one of his candidates actually did win his election. Charles was glad. The man was actually a mutant, though an empath with minor range, but it meant he would have mutant rights in his own best interests.

Hank had retreated to his lab, even more so than before, and kept himself busy developing his projects. Charles gave him space. Hank was less angry now, less upset. He often did leave the grounds, wrapped in his trench coat and hat, and took long walks. Also, he’d finally forgiven Gus, and the two were back to being nearly inseparable.

December came and went, and Charles succeeded in finding two amazingly talented young women to come and teach at his school. One was a healer named Grace, though she could do nothing about old wounds, only new, and the other was a gardener who called herself Fern, after the little girl in _Charlotte’s Web_ , with a love of the earth and a nearly literal green thumb. The fruit trees around the mansion would be enviable in the spring. In the meantime, the house plants started to look better than they had in years. His female students attached themselves with pure worship, and gratefulness.

January started, and was bitterly cold and snowy. Charles’ efforts with rehabilitation and some additional work with Armando and Alex were starting to pay dividends. He could now stand with aid. If nothing else, he enjoyed having goals. Reaching them, even if they were arduous, and so far and few between, kept him from barring himself in his room and never coming out again. It was only his iron-clad focus on his goals that got him out of bed in the morning. When he thought of Erik, every fiber of him ached with loss.

How could Erik not know that Charles could do naught else _but_ forgive him. Charles had forgiven him for Shaw, for killing a man while he’d been there in his mind, screaming from the pain of it. Charles had forgiven him for the ricochet, for a change to his life so severe that he had come to know depths within himself that he had hardly fathomed before. This? This latest plan was despicable and horrendous, and so terribly regretful that Charles couldn’t help but be repulsed by it. And yet, he would still forgive Erik.

He could understand his motivations, even if he did not agree with him on his methods.

Charles had watched the news, hawk-like, startling at every tidbit. There were more mutants now than ever. With an incredibly diverse range of powers. Hot spots had crept up all over the country—where the adulterated feed had been sent, Charles presumed. But in a way, it was also glorious. All those people, all those abilities. Charles could feel them out there, pressing in against his head. Fearful of themselves, wondrous with exploration and discovery, practical, calmly accepting, dragging in ragged gulps of air, despairing, or suddenly finding purpose where none had been before. The whole gamete of human life, the same as it ever was.

Charles couldn’t help but be secretly pleased, just the tiniest bit, that his theories about mutant genetics had been borne out. There was still so much more to understand, though. It seemed that mutant genetics was fast becoming a very high profile topic.

Charles would never have chosen to do what Erik had done—to dose an entire population, but he had to admit it had been brilliant. All those latent talents suddenly triggered. The world was changing. Sometimes violently, sometimes peacefully, but it had been given the ultimate shove. Charles supposed that was the essence of Erik—a man of infinite patience who was not a very patient man.

One cold and snowy January day, Gus came to Charles’ study. “You should take a trip” Gus told him, and Charles’ attention perked up.

“Where should I go?” Charles asked.

“Mount Washington,” Gus said. “New Hampshire.”

Charles raised his eyebrows. “In the middle of winter? Gus, the fastest land wind speed ever recorded was there. I don’t think the road is open right now.”

“You should go,” Gus said. “Hank will take you. There are hiking trails that you can climb.”

Charles spent a moment to think on it. He had nothing to lose. He was cold at night, inside his chest, frozen. Could it be any worse to try to climb a mountain in winter and be cold outside and in? He supposed if anyone could bring him to the top of an icy, snowy mountain in the middle of the winter, it would be Hank. His strength, agility and sheer physical fortitude were assets that would be essential for gaining the summit. “Alright,” he said. “Help me prepare.”

“Of course,” Gus said.

It took a week to prepare for the hike, of carefully preparing their packs to store food, water, and emergency supplies. They also had to find warm enough clothing, and in the correct sizes. Hank had to design his own snowshoes and crampons for the size of his feet, but was pleased with the results. They would need goggles and scarves as well, and a method that allowed Hank to carry Charles while still having his arms and legs free. Charles, in particular, would need to be well insulated as he wouldn’t have the physical activity to help him maintain body heat.

The others were worried, and Charles could feel their concern beating against him like the fragile wings of moths. The mountain could have dangerously low temperatures and deadly winds. A single slip could prove fatal. People died in trying to hike the mountain.

Finally, though, they were prepared.

Sean insisted on accompanying them, stubbornly refusing to remain behind. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said. “Just in case. You call me and I’ll fly up there and get you out.” For a moment he looked fierce and determined. “If you aren’t back by sundown, I’ll come get you anyway.”

“Thank you,” Charles said quietly, and patted him on the shoulder. He wondered what he’d done to engender such fierce protectiveness, and such a good friend. “But don’t fly foolishly into any winds that are too strong. We can always hunker down until the weather improves.”

Gus gave Sean a wool blanket and a thermos. “You can fill it with hot chocolate,” he said, “for while you wait. They won’t need you, but you’re very brave to wait for them.”

“I’d rather not take chances,” Sean replied as he took the items. “Thanks, Gus.”

They drove north in silence, but it was companionable, and Charles found he couldn’t tear his eyes from the scenery. A winter storm had come in the day before and everything was coated in white, pristine and perfect. Unscarred.

It took two days to reach the base of the mountain. There were two other vehicles in the lot. “Other hikers,” Hank said, sniffing the air delicately. “We may come across them.”

Charles spent a moment to mentally locate the hikers. They were well ahead of them, having started at dawn. “They aren’t going to try to summit. They’re on the lower portion of the trails.”

They pulled on their outer clothes, careful to keep skin unexposed. Charles could feel Hank’s keen eyes assessing him, and for once Charles wished he had Hank’s fur. It looked awfully warm, and frostbite proof.

Sean waved good-bye to them, and for a long time, as Hank walked through the deep snow in snowshoes, Charles could see their car below, sometimes in view and sometimes not. The sky was a brilliant blue, clear in only the way it could be when it was cold enough to bring tears to the eyes. They had checked the temperature, and for the location, it actually wasn’t an especially cold day. Nor were the winds particularly fierce-some. As far as the mountain went, it was practically balmy.

Hank, exhibiting the strength and conditioning of his abilities and training, ascended the trail easily, even with Charles’ extra weight. Charles tried not to burble at Hank more than a few times about how impressed he was, although he could feel Hank’s shy pride at the comments.

“You should try ice climbing,” Hank mused as they passed along a ravine. There were areas where the ice spilled down like a waterfall frozen in time, and other areas where a wall rose up thirty feet or more of solid, packed down snow and ice. “With your upper body strength, you could scale things really well.”

Charles looked at the dizzying whiteness and heights and shuddered. All he could imagine were avalanches.

The cloud cover around the mountain was low, undercast, and it was odd to move through it, blindingly white, all depth perception gone. Somewhere in the dense icy fog, Hank switched from snowshoes to crampons, and they continued on, the only sound in the quiet was of Hank’s even, moderately labored breathing and the continuous crunch-crunch of the snow beneath his feet.

Soon they moved past the thickest portion and the mist thinned out, allowing them to see the trail ahead for some distance, though Charles felt like he was somehow lost in time and space. Hank kept moving with purpose, though, and Charles did not put voice to the eerie sensation that he felt creeping up the back of his neck.

The trees around them were covered in hard rime-frost, looking more like iced-over skeletons frozen in mid-dance than living plants. Beyond the trees, the white fog closed in again, obscuring the view. The wind picked up as they climbed higher, and the trees creaked all around them, an ever present threat.

After awhile, though, even the slick-coated trees fell away as they moved past the treeline. The landscape became barren, for all that it was covered with mounds of snow and ice. Slowly, the last remains of the fog dissipated.

When they broke through again to clear air, Charles was grateful. “I can see the summit,” he said.

“We’re almost there,” Hank agreed.

The area flattened out somewhat, and the small observation shack came into view, as well as the placard labeling the summit. Then Charles’ attention went to an area overlooking what seemed to be a sea of white. “Oh,” he said.

“Yeah,” Hank said. “I think we both guessed why Gus told us to come here.”

“I had tried not to hope.”

“I know.” Hank walked slowly over to the lone figure on the west side of the mountain top, making himself as obvious as possible. “Lots of metal on both of us,” he muttered. “I hope he doesn’t fling us over the edge.”

“He won’t.”

Hank gave him a look.

“At least, I don’t think he will.”

Erik had turned to watch them approach. He had on a thick coat, gloves, and a scarf wrapped around his lower face. Only his eyes, from within the helmet, were visible. Erik watched impassively as Hank left Charles and then wandered far enough away to give them a semblance of privacy.

Out past Erik, Charles could see that the sky was undercast, the clouds below them formed an ocean of whiteness. The horizon itself was tinged white, then light blue, flowing into a gradually darkening blue that finally became a blue so intense that Charles had to close his eyes against it.

Erik’s gaze was blank, waiting.

“Nice up here,” Charles said, even as the wind picked up and howled past. “Like being at the top of the world.”

Erik nodded.

“Do you come here often?” Charles asked.

Erik broke into a laugh. “Only you, Charles,” he said, “would climb to one of the loneliest, forbidding places, and then try one of your awful pick-up lines.” He shook his head. “Your fortune-teller told you I would be here,” he said.

“Gus seems to have his own ideas about things,” Charles said. “He insisted Hank and I go hiking today.”

“Sometimes I wonder if we aren’t all dancing to the tune he plays,” Erik said darkly.

“Maybe.” They lapsed into a long silence. “Erik,” Charles finally said. “What are you doing up here?”

“I came to think,” Erik said. “I do come here often. It’s beautiful up here.”

“It is lonely here,” Charles said. “And really, _really_ cold.” He reached out a gloved hand and caught Erik’s hand. He tugged and Erik flowed down to sit next to him on the cold, hard, icy snow. Every breath they took puffed into the air as white steam, and Charles stared into Erik’s eyes, which were impossibly the same color as the perfect sky. He reached up and wrapped his gloved hands around the edges of the helmet, and Erik didn’t stop him. He lifted and it came off. Under the helmet, Erik wore a black fisherman’s cap, just covering his ears.

A flood of thoughts cascaded over Charles, mingled and capricious, and overwhelmingly bereft. “You haven’t lost me,” Charles whispered. “I was waiting for you.”

“I haven’t stopped,” Erik said, proud and stubborn, and as obstinate as he ever was. “I won’t give up.”

“I know,” Charles said. “But I think you averted your war.”

“Maybe,” Erik said cautiously. “But we must remain vigilant. Always.”

“We will,” Charles promised. He leaned against Erik and closed his eyes. “But it’s time for you to come home now. With me.”

Erik didn’t answer right away. He stared out at the broad expanse of the world below him. With the cloud cover, it looked unreal, like a magical kingdom. “I have to keep fighting,” he said. “If I rest now….”

Charles turned Erik’s face away from the endless view of the sky so that they were face to face. Charles lifted his goggles and pulled down his scarf, then pulled down Erik’s scarf to reveal his face. He leaned forward, and caught him in a kiss, their lips both gone cold in the frigid air, and yet it filled him with a warmth that suffused through him until Charles felt that he might actually be glowing. “Fight tomorrow,” he said. “But my bed is colder and lonelier than this mountain top without you. Don’t make me mourn your absence anymore. Come home.”

Erik paused, and Charles could feel the scales being weighed. The wind whipped up again, raw against Charles’ skin, and wailing like a doomed soul, but it finally parted the cloud cover. Charles could see for countless miles down into the valley and over to the far mountain range. The landscape stretched forever until it vanished into the horizon, promising something so primal that Charles could only feel it, not understand it.

“Yes,” Erik finally said, and he tightened his arms around Charles, embracing him as if he would never let him go. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had many, many notes. Most of them completely rambling. If you really want to read more about how I mis-used genetics and Mt. Washington, you can find it here: [Mt. Washington and My theory of mutant allele polymorphism, and genotype and phenotype, let me bore you with it](http://elistaire.dreamwidth.org/72353.html)
> 
>  
> 
> Title from a quote/song: _  
> Hope told a flattering tale  
>  That joy would soon return;  
> Ah, naught my sighs avail  
> For love is doomed to mourn._
> 
> \- song introduced into the opera, "Artaxerxes", words by John Wolcot (Peter Pindar)
> 
> And, that's the end of this series. Luckily, it appeared to be only temporary mourning. :)


End file.
